


Fingers Crossed

by SapphyreLily



Series: Seijou 4 Week 2016 [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, i'm not tagging all the characters k there are too many, secret agent AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 14:16:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12913647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: Seijou 4 Week Day 7 - Secret Agent AUA friendly mask on, but a knife in hand, behind your back. Deception and lies. That's what it meant, to be agents.





	Fingers Crossed

**Author's Note:**

> Holy hell guys, it only took me a year to finish this. _Only_.
> 
> Don't laugh at my awkward transitioning, I wrote this over a year in spurts and my writing style has changed a lot.

The tall brunet hoisted his backpack higher onto his shoulder and smiled grimly.

_Deep breath. Cheery smile. You can do this._

His posture slackened, relaxed into the easy-going gait of a confident, cocky teenager.

He stepped forward, through the gates of Aoba Jousai High School.

x.x.x.x.x

A short, muscular boy picked up a ball and served it over the net. It hit the floor cleanly, the first bounce echoing with a note of finality.

He grinned, a feral, wild thing, and picked up another ball.

x.x.x.x.x

A tall, sleepy-looking boy prowled the halls, eyes sharp beneath hooded lids. He stopped in front of the trophy case, looking at the awards with an almost bored expression.

His gaze landed on an award – no, just an honourable mention – and he smiled slowly, the gears in his head beginning to turn.

x.x.x.x.x

A pink-haired boy sat on the roof, looking out over the field as he munched on a profiterole. His eyes glinted as he spotted a small, beat-up car drive into the school’s parking lot and park at the far end.

He popped the rest of the pastry into his mouth and licked his fingers clean, a predatory grin spreading across his face.

x.x.x.x.x

“Class, we have a new member today. Please welcome him.”

The tall brunet stepped forward and flashed a peace sign, winking with his tongue stuck out.

“Nice to meet you! The name’s Oikawa Tooru.”

x.x.x.x.x

“We’ve got some new members today.”

“Oh? I thought the club wasn’t accepting new applications.”

“Special case. Their transfers got delayed, but they actually made it into Aoba Jousai last year.”

“A whole year’s delay?! That’s crazy!”

“I know right? But I hear they are super strong. The volleyball club will make it to Nationals this time for sure!”

“Nice. Who are they?”

“Wow, you really don’t know? The amazing setter from Karasuno, the middle blocker from Nekoma and the wing spiker from Fukurodani. Add them to our ace stolen from Shiratorizawa, and we’ll have the best team this year!”

“Wait a minute… _Those_ are the guys?!”

“None other.”

The second year duo turned to eye their ace, who was practising his serves on the other court.

The ball hit the court with pinpoint accuracy, power ringing in the way it slammed against the floor.

“Seems like we’re going to have a very interesting year.”

x.x.x.x.x

Oikawa’s eyes flicked left and right, seizing up the members of the volleyball team. He had but one mission, but it couldn’t be completed unless he set the groundwork right.

Spotting the ace of Aoba Jousai, he bounded over and threw an arm over the boy’s neck. “Hey, you’re the ace right? Can I set to you sometime?”

The boy glared at him, and though it looked mostly harmless, he detected a sliver of steel in his gaze. “You’re the new guy. Oikawa.”

Oikawa threw up a peace sign. “That’s me!” His arm dropped, as did his casual expression. “Come now, let me set a few balls for you. I want to see how well we can work together.”

The boy raised an eyebrow – half-amused, half-thoughtful. “Very well. Let’s see how you hold up.”

He shrugged Oikawa’s arm off his shoulder, bowing shortly. “My name is Iwaizumi Hajime. Let’s play well together.”

Oikawa hid the glint in his eye. “Oikawa Tooru. Let’s play well together.”

_Show me your weakness, and the best way I can kill you._

x.x.x.x.x

Iwaizumi slammed the ball down, only for it to be blocked by the new middle blocker. The ball flew over his head, and was sent back up into the air by Watari. He called for another ball, Oikawa setting it to the perfect height. He spiked the ball again, this time at an angle that the middle blocker couldn’t catch.

The ball hit the court, and his team let out a whoop of celebration. The opposing team's middle blocker laughed lowly, the sound almost dangerous. But when Iwaizumi turned back, the boy's expression had not changed. He still looked sleepy and uninterested, except for the faintest quirk of his lip that betrayed his amusement.

“Your spikes have a lot of power. What’s your name?”

Iwaizumi's eyebrows went up. He told him his name. The middle blocker's mouth popped open. “Shiratorizawa’s other ace?”

Iwaizumi bristled. “I’m Aoba Jousai’s ace now.”

The boy chuckled. “Of course, of course. You’re famous, you know. Would you happen to know of me, spotlight boy?”

It was a stupid nickname, and Iwaizumi felt his temper rise. “No, can’t say I have.”

The boy clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Well, that’s a pity.” He grinned ferociously, eyes brimming with bloodlust. It was but a momentary flash, and then he looked bored again.

“My name is Matsukawa Issei. Let’s work well together.”

x.x.x.x.x

The strawberry blond darted out, sinking into a crouch and sending the ball back to the setter. “Alright!”

“Nice!”

“Left!”

“Open!” It was him again, darting out from the back for a pipe attack, hitting the ball hard enough that it glanced off the opposing receiver’s arms.

“Nice kill.” Matsukawa walked up to him, extending a hand for a high-five. The boy slapped it, the impact sharp with how brief it was. He grinned lazily, canines flashing provocatively.

“Thanks. I like how you block. I’m Hanamaki Takahiro.

“Let’s work well together.”

x.x.x.x.x

Oikawa set off for home with Iwaizumi. Turns out, they lived in the same direction. He hid his grin in the darkness, pulling out his other persona and teasing Iwaizumi cheerfully.

The ace barely responded except to scoff at him and push him away for ‘being too familiar'. Oikawa pouted.

“But I want us to be familiar!”

“Well, I _don't_.”

Oikawa continued jabbering excitedly, as if he didn’t notice the bite in his tone. “I need to give you a nickname if we’re going to be more familiar! Hmm, let’s see… I know! I’ll call you ‘Iwa-chan’!”

“That’s so childish. No. I refuse.”

“Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan~”

“Shut up, you– You– Shittykawa!”

Oikawa was properly stunned for a moment. “Iwa-chan, that’s so mean!”

“It’s nicer than you deserve, Assikawa!”

“Mean! Meanie Iwa-chan!”

“Gah! Leave me alone!”

Iwaizumi threw the volleyball in his hands at his head, using a _bit_ more strength than was strictly necessary. Oikawa’s head was completely thrown forward, though he kept his feet.

There were many things running through Iwaizumi’s mind, but his primary thought was: _Oh,_ shit _._

_Did I kill him?_

_Damn it, he’s a civilian!_

But Oikawa straightened up after a beat, clutching the back of his head and whining about _mean Iwa-chan_ and _are you trying to kill me?_

Iwaizumi threw the ball at him again.

But later, much later, when he was writing his report for the day, he thought back, and wondered, _how did I_ not _kill him?_

Iwaizumi Hajime knew his own strength. He knew his limits, and his accomplishments.

And he knew, that that ball should have been enough to kill Oikawa, or at least give him a concussion.

Yet the boy had walked away with nothing more than a throbbing skull – not even a headache.

Either Oikawa Tooru was exceptionally hard-headed, or he was something else. Someone _special_.

Iwaizumi made a note of it on a sticky pad, but did not put it in his report.

He wanted more evidence first.

x.x.x.x.x

Oikawa slipped into the soundproof room, picking up the secure phone and dialling the lone number in the contact list. It rang twice before someone picked up.

_“Hello?”_

“Suga-chan. Nice to hear from you.” Oikawa greeted cordially, less cheerful persona and more of his ruthless nature.

Suga chuckled. _“You called me, not the other way around. But formalities aside, how was your first day?”_

Oikawa toyed with a throwing star, turning to face the corkboard. “I scouted out the school, memorised the escape routes. I’ve identified the target, though getting him alone will be a bit of a problem. He’s got a bodyguard.”

_“Oh?”_ The sound of a pencil scribbling could be heard over the line. _“Does the bodyguard pose an issue?”_

“Yes, actually.” Oikawa paused, lifted his hand and threw the star. It hit bull’s-eye with uncanny accuracy. “Iwaizumi Hajime, Year 3 Class 5. Captain of the volleyball club, has a devastating serve. He almost killed me tonight.”

_“What?!”_ The sound of the chair overturning made Oikawa grin. Toying with Suga was always so much _fun. “Why didn’t you report this?!”_

“Because I’m still alive.” Oikawa told him. “It’s that simple, isn’t it?”

He walked to the table, picked up another star. “I don’t think he did it on purpose. But he might suspect something about me now. That hit I took was _really_ powerful.”

_“Where are you injured?”_

“I took a volleyball to the back of my head. It’s all good.”

_“That is not ‘good’, Oikawa! You might have brain damage!”_

“Well, we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” Oikawa grinned, a feral twist of his lips. “Oh, and Suga-chan?”

_“What?”_ Suga sounded weary.

“Look into the transfers from Nekoma and Fukurodani for me. They seem normal, but three transfers at once is way too suspicious.”

_“…the information will be in your inbox tomorrow morning.”_

x.x.x.x.x

Matsukawa plugged his headphones into his 3DS before slotting a special cartridge in. He booted up the device and slid the headphones over his ears, tapping the correct code to get into the chatroom.

A series of beeps and bloops greeted him, and he quickly pressed several buttons, sending back a garbled message of his own.

A thumbs-up icon appeared on his screen, as did two familiar faces. Matsukawa grinned, typing out a salutation. He might have had amazing technology, but that didn’t include a microphone function – necessary precautions, for fear of being overheard. Besides, as of yet, no one had managed to crack one of Kenma's codes. He was perfectly safe.

On the screen, Kuroo mimed out a series of actions while Kenma typed out what he was saying. The sign language was faster to read than the code, but Matsukawa waited until the message had been fully received before typing out his own response.

He was unable to convey his excitement and findings fully through code, so he put the 3DS down and began miming rapidly, counting on Kenma to transcribe his words.

Kuroo's jaw dropped as he related his story, shaking his head grimly. He mimed back a question, and Matsukawa shrugged. He picked up the gaming device and tapped out his words, nodding seriously when the duo looked at him for confirmation.

Kuroo and Kenma exchanged a look, before sighing and sending a message of approval. Matsukawa's sleepy visage fell away when he was notified, a look of determined, intense concentration replacing it. He nodded shortly and signed off with a promise to check in again soon.

He ejected the cartridge and set it in a safe spot, then pulled out a toolbox and implements.

He had work to do.

x.x.x.x.x

Hanamaki leaned out of his window, hooting a five-tone call. Within seconds, a bird threw itself out of a tree, flapping steadily towards him.

He stepped aside to let it into his room, tapping it on the head trice to deactivate it. Then he reached for its belly, detaching the plate and setting it flat to peer into the cavity.

A small scroll was inside it, and he eagerly read the messy handwriting, followed by the neat lines of his instructions. He allowed himself a small grin as he read about their antics, then set a lighter to the note, having already memorised the instructions. After blowing the ashes out of the window, he grabbed a paper from a compartment in the bird’s belly and began penning his report.

Brief report complete, Hanamaki slipped it into the bird’s cavity, then spoke to it with a different bird call. The bird woke up and shifted from foot to foot before launching itself out of the window for the long distance trip to Tokyo.

Hanamaki smiled up at the moon, fingers tracing his hidden throwing knives. Then he turned around and began planning his next move.

x.x.x.x.x

Matsukawa padded round the side of the gym, slipping in through a window that he had oiled previously. It was 3 a.m., and most civilians were asleep. There were bound to be a few night owls, but no student would enter the school compound at night.

Prowling about the gym in the dark with nothing but the blueprint of the building in his head for guidance, he reached the front door with no interruptions, and began setting up his first distraction.

Once that was complete, he went to the storage room and positioned a small bomb under a stack of precariously stacked equipment. A trigger wire was set up from the equipment to the mops, so that anyone who picked up a mop would set off the bomb.

Several harmless light and smoke bombs went around the gym next, hidden in crevices or along walls, easily camouflaged but invisible to the untrained eye.

His final distraction went into the shower area, hooked up to pipes and attached to the ceiling.

Satisfied with his handiwork, he quietly crept from the gym, making sure to sweep the dust from his entry point away.

x.x.x.x.x

Iwaizumi was in shock when he opened the gym the next morning.

The moment he unlocked and pushed open the gym doors, there were several loud popping sounds, and a storm of something light and grainy rained from the ceiling, spreading out to cover what he assumed was the entire gym. He looked at the settling dust in horror before his training kicked in and he bent down to inspect it.

It was still fairly dark outside, and the light switches were all the way at the other side of the gym. In order to get to them, he would have to pass through the cloud of dust, and he still had no idea what type of dust it was. Logically speaking, it should be nothing more than a stupid prank, but what sort of prank involved such huge amounts of whatever this was?

(What if it wasn’t a prank, and the dust was flammable or explosive?)

He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, sweeping the light over the gym floor. Shiny specks winked up at him, blue and red and green, gold and silver and pink; a whole assortment of colours spread in little hills over the wood.

He pressed his hands to his face, grinding out a weird sound that was a mix of a groan and a growl.

Glitter. Someone had glitter bombed their gym.

When he found that person, they were dead to him. And then the coach could have his turn at killing them.

Oh, no.

What if Coach found out?

He picked up his bag and dove into the gym, kicking up flurries of glitter as he ran for the light switches.

He hoped the rest of the team got there soon. They had a _lot_ of work to do if they wanted to clean up the mess before the coach arrived.

x.x.x.x.x

Hanamaki entered the gym and let out a bark of delighted laugher.

Whoever had planned this was a _genius_.

He was by no means late, but half the regulars were already present, staring at the sands of glitter covering the court and doing nothing about it.

When his instructions said that he would be getting a distraction, he had not expected it to come so soon. Nor had he expected it to be so enjoyable.

From the far end of the gym, Iwaizumi yelled, something about _get your asses here and help, before Coach comes in and we all die_.

It wasn’t the most motivational of speeches, but everyone scrambled to dump their bags in a corner and slip their trackpants and jackets off before running across the glitter to the storeroom.

He did the same, although at a much slower pace, drawing faces in the glitter but hardly disturbing it. He didn’t want to get any glitter on his clothes, because knowing the way Fukurodani and their allies worked, there was bound to be something else besides glitter in the mix. He didn’t intend on being the one to find out what it was.

He dropped his bag and removed his outerwear at a snail’s pace, watching an increasingly frazzled Iwaizumi try to knock the team into a reasonable cleaning squad. The captain was preoccupied and seemed like he had not noticed him, so he slipped out of the gym and headed for the staff room.

x.x.x.x.x

Oikawa diverted his path the moment he got the news.

He wasn’t sure how Suga knew, but his new instructions were to complete his mission ASAP, now that someone had kindly provided a distraction.

_Get in, get out. Easy._

It probably wasn’t.

The target was by no means a stupid man. He could not have evaded so many people over the years unless he had some sort of backup and game plan in mind, and that meant more factors had to be considered.

For instance, he could not have been so stupid as to leave the information lying around at his place of work, though the best place to hide something was in plain sight. However, without any extra intelligence, Oikawa had to start _somewhere_ and this was the obvious option.

He wasn’t all that fond of this part of the job.

The staff room door was locked, but a few jiggles with his lock-picking set and he was in. He left the door closed but unlocked for a quick exit later on, and began searching for the target’s desk.

He had just found the desk and noted its position when he heard the door open. He dropped and rolled under the table, quickly sitting up and scooting over to the adjoining teacher’s desk.

The person who opened the door was silent, their footsteps inaudible, if they were moving at all. Yet every now and then he heard the scrape of a chair as it was pulled out and pushed back in, and he grew faint as he realised what it meant.

They knew there was someone in the room with them.

Damnit, he should have locked that door.

He listened more carefully, straining his ears to check the direction that the sounds were coming from. They sounded a ways off, going in the opposite direction from the table he was situated under. But that did not mean that he could move, for the person would surely see him.

He wondered how the bodyguard or the target had managed to lock on to him so quickly.

There was a slight creak, and Oikawa’s heart stopped.

A new set of feet stepped in. The door slid shut and the latch turned.

He wasn’t sure he remembered how to breathe anymore.

He was locked in a room with two people who could potentially kill him, and the best he had were a dozen shuriken and his lock-picking set.

He was doomed.

x.x.x.x.x

Matsukawa had just managed to wedge himself under a table when he heard the footsteps stop and open the staff room door. He slowly twisted the revolving chair so that it was straight again, breathing as shallowly as he could.

He heard the door click shut, and the latch turn.

Oh, for the love of mercy.

Now he was trapped in a room with somebody who knew what they were doing.

He only hoped that it was his supposed ally, the mysterious one that Kuroo and Kenma confirmed was the best.

He braced his hand on the cabinet next to him, feeling the cool metal under his fingertips. His index finger got caught in a little groove and he traced it absentmindedly, wondering which teacher would knowingly deface school property.

His hand stilled. Trailed back up to the start of the grooves and started reading the words carved into the metal.

He could hear footsteps not two rows down from him, but he couldn’t help it; a big smile split his face.

x.x.x.x.x

Hanamaki took a deep breath after he closed and locked the door. He could taste the disturbance in the air, the displacement of stale molecules as someone rushed to hide. Standing stock-still, he listened carefully, slowing the thump of his heart.

Somewhere in the room, fabric rustled.

He grinned and twisted in the direction of the noise, inhaling deeply. The air in that direction was undisturbed, but he could almost smell the tang of fear riding on the dust motes.

He licked his lips; a subconscious reflex. Lifted his foot in the direction of the hidden person, but paused.

Who would be in the staff room this early, and not turn on the lights?

Surely not the target.

He cocked his head, thinking.

He supposed it _could_ be his ally.

He didn’t think he would meet them so early in the game, but it didn’t hurt to seek them out and bend them to his wishes.

Hanamaki tucked his sinister smile away and padded towards the source of the sound.

x.x.x.x.x

Oikawa was close to passing out.

The footsteps were loud, almost thundering, as if the person knew he was there and was announcing their presence.

The footsteps were ten steps away. Eight. Six. Four.

The chair of the table was pulled out, and a light shone on his face.

He immediately threw his hands up to protect his eyes, and heard the person bark a surprised laugh. “Oikawa?”

He knew that voice.

“Makki?” He lowered his hands, squinting against the light. “What are you doing here?”

Suga’s report said nothing about him being an agent. In fact, it said that he was _clean._

He was definitely going to have some words with Sugawara Koushi later.

(If he survived until later.)

“I could ask you the same.” Hanamaki's tone dipped, taking on a dangerous edge. “I don’t suppose you’re looking for dust bunnies under that desk?”

“Dust bunny breeding is all the rage now, you know.” Oikawa crossed his arms, glaring back defiantly and refusing to be cowed. He was at a disadvantage, but until he knew what Hanamaki was there for, he couldn’t leave. “Maybe I was looking for better techniques on how to cultivate my dust bunny farm.”

Hanamaki snorted, but he stepped back, opening up an escape route. “Fine then. Don’t tell me what you were doing under Ayame-sensei's desk.”

Oikawa scrambled to get out, dusting the dirt from his pants. “Well, if you must know, she doesn’t have any porn magazines.”

Hanamaki’s eyes glinted. “None at all? How’d you get into her cabinet?”

Oikawa's heart stopped. _Damn, I set myself up for that one_.

He laughed nervously. “My dad taught me how to pick a lock. Said it was an important life skill.”

“Wow. Nice dad. Is that where your lock pick set from?”

Oikawa’s heart plummeted when he saw his set in Hanamaki’s hands. “Yeah. It started out as a skill, but it’s kind of fun as a hobby. The more difficult a lock, the greater the challenge, you know?”

“Hmm. I think I do.” Hanamaki flipped the box over and over in his hands, suddenly tossing it at Oikawa. “Since you like a challenge, open these drawers for me.” His finger pointed to the target’s desk.

Oikawa snatched the box out of the air, fumbling a little. He hoped that Hanamaki thought he was just a random trespasser, and that the fumble was a sign of nervousness. “Okay? Aren’t these locks just the same as the rest of them, though? I already opened Ayame-sensei’s cabinet, why do I need to open another?”

“Just open it for me before someone comes looking for us.” The threat in his voice was unmistakable, and Oikawa unintentionally let out a squeak as he hurried to comply.

As he picked out the correct implements for the lock, he asked a little hesitantly, “Whose drawer is this that I’m picking?”

Hanamaki hummed. “Coach Irihata’s.”

Oikawa intentionally dropped one of the metal tools. “What? Coach's? What are you looking for?”

“None of your business, hotshot. I told you one thing, now hurry up.”

Oikawa grumbled. “At least let me look inside when I crack it. He’s bound to have some volleyball strategies in there and I want them.”

Hanamaki laughed. “You can have anything you want _after_ I look through it.”

Oikawa was about to retort when he felt the final tumbler click into place, the lock disengaging. Hands were on his shoulders and pushing him away before he had time to protest, and when he looked up, Hanamaki was already digging through the drawer, papers rustling noisily.

A surge of anger rose in him – he was being beaten by a rival to the information. It wasn’t as if Hanamaki would find anything of use, but he did not like being one-upped by anyone. Not. At. All.

(He hated acting so fake, so shallow and dumb. If he was allowed to be ruthless, he wouldn’t have to put up with Hanamaki’s whims.)

“Open the next drawer while I look at these.”

Oikawa couldn’t help himself.

“Am I your servant, Makki?”

A whoosh of air, and there was a handle pressing into his throat. Oikawa didn’t dare to swallow. That would be a sign of weakness. Hanamaki smiled cordially, but his eyes were hard.

“Don’t mistake us for friends, _Oikawa_. I don’t know what you’re doing in here when you obviously don’t know what you’re doing, but I suppose I could let it go if this is just a prank. But if you’re after something else…”

Oikawa hardened his features into a scowl and smacked the torchlight away from his throat. “Now you’re just being weird, Makki. Of course it’s just a prank. Ayame-sensei is the hottest teacher in the whole school, and I was elected to look through her stuff. Why are _you_ acting like it’s a life or death situation to get into Coach’s drawers?”

Hanamaki stared at him for a long moment before smiling sweetly. “None of your business. Keep your secrets and I’ll keep mine. Unlock the rest of the drawers for me, then take your volleyball strategies and go.”

“I’ll need to relock those drawers if you don’t want Coach finding out we’ve been in here.” Oikawa refused to budge, putting on his ‘scared but determined face’.

(He hated this.)

(This was begging. He _never_ begged.)

Hanamaki chuckled. “I like your attitude, though your story doesn’t match up. Just unlock the drawers. The bell will ring soon.”

Oikawa glanced at the clock and cursed.

He would have to get his revenge another time.

x.x.x.x.x

Matsukawa closed the door of the emergency exit behind him, letting it settle slowly so that no sound was made.

He had not expected the first person in the room to be Oikawa, nor had he expected Hanamaki to be the one digging in the target’s desk. He wasn’t sure which one was his ally, and which his rival.

Nevertheless, their squabble had given him enough time to finish deciphering the words carved into the cabinet and make his escape. He was confident that they did not hear him, but Hanamaki had sharper senses than he thought.

The way he moved, his single-minded focus… He was like a bird of prey, honing in on the target and decimating any obstacles in his way.

As he snuck back to the gym, he hoped that his ally managed to get a lead on where the target was hiding the information.

He wasn’t sure that the words he found would be enough.

x.x.x.x.x

Iwaizumi was a ball of anxious energy.

No, not just that. He was _panicked_. Nervousness was just a small part of it.

He had found the bomb under the pile of equipment right before the juniors came in, and luckily, they had been too distracted by the glitter to notice him disabling it. It was the fastest he had ever disabled one, spurred to quickness by the threat of it exploding and blowing his cover, and also out of fear for the innocents standing _barely ten metres away_.

He had barely hidden the parts under a ratty old mat (a pity, because the bomb had been beautiful – clean design, easily assembled from household items, no traces of fingerprints whatsoever) when Kindaichi walked in, and he had been so frazzled that he yelled at the poor boy to _grab a broom and start sweeping_.

That was when he heard the first shout.

He rushed out, only to see Kunimi on his back in the sea of glitter, clutching his face and whimpering. Before he could take five steps, Kindaichi was already halfway to his friend, kicking up clouds of the shiny stuff.

He wanted to tell him to _slow down, don’t panic_ , but then the boy _tripped_ – and a cloud of smoke erupted from where he was standing, throwing even more glitter into the air.

If Iwaizumi had been uptight before, now he was utterly defeated and exasperated.

There was no way he could possibly clear this up before Coach came in.

He needed to report this _immediately_ – and finish his mission as soon as possible.

(Also, he was sure he had more team members than this – where had they all gone?)

x.x.x.x.x

Oikawa was almost certain that Coach would cancel practice when he came in and found the gym scattered with glitter, and the team either coughing or sitting in stunned shock with hands over their eyes.

The man did just that, and surprisingly, called the office to give them the day off. He went around to the injured students and carted them off to the sick bay, speaking softly all the while.

Unusually, it was Iwaizumi who looked the most stressed, covered head to toe in glitter and on the verge of pulling his hair out. He almost wanted to go over and reassure him (just to keep up his image) but Suga had warned him not to make skin contact with the glitter if he could.

He glanced over at the other two third years, the only ones in the gym besides him who were not covered in glitter. Hanamaki was sweeping carefully, making sure that the glitter did not fly. Matsukawa was sweeping normally – but he was completely covered up from ankles to wrists. He was also stepping very precisely, as if avoiding certain spots on the ground.

Oikawa was struck by a sudden revelation – could Suga have been wrong _twice_? Was Matsukawa another rival, trying to get the same information he was after?

He picked up his broom and swept vigorously, short, hard strokes to corral in the finicky grains. He was nothing short of furious, now that Hanamaki had every single paper from the target’s desk, except the volleyball strategies that lay at the bottom of his bag.

He knew he had needed an excuse, but what good were strategies when he was looking for something wholly different?

x.x.x.x.x

Hanamaki tore into the stolen papers the moment he was in a secure location.

It took him an hour to go through all of them, and he nearly set a lighter to them when he found nothing of consequence. Instead, he put them aside neatly, resolving (with great difficulty) to put them back so that the target would suspect less. Coach had left immediately after the fiasco that was morning practice, and he had heard no rumours that he was missing anything of importance, so perhaps he did not go to the staff room.

Tough luck.

He dug in the drawer beside his bed and pulled out his map, mentally calculating the amount of time needed to get to the target’s house. Assuming that the target was still dealing with the aftermath of the ‘gym terrorist', he would have sufficient time to scope out the entire place.

He didn’t have time to waste on sulking. He had a mission to complete.

Anyway, his instructions _did_ say that the target was his first priority. The information could always come later.

x.x.x.x.x

Matsukawa sat in the storage room of the gym, waiting for the janitor to lock up and leave. He waited an extra ten minutes after the final turn of the lock before unfolding himself from the corner and breaking out of the storage room.

He was relatively pleased with himself. Though the bomb in the storage room had been diffused, no one had yet noticed his surprise in the showers.

The distraction that morning had been good but insufficient; nobody seemed to be badly injured enough to warrant the target taking action.

He _was_ curious though. There were quite a few individuals who were completely covered in glitter – surely the effects had manifested already? He knew the target had acquired quite a layer of glitter as well when he brought the stunned boys to the sick bay. Too bad he had been wearing a full length tracksuit, but Matsukawa hoped that some had gotten onto his exposed skin. He _had_ been helping the injured boys – surely some would have gotten on his palms.

Although Matsukawa wasn’t that a ruthless person by nature, the ‘gift’ mixed into the glitter was by no means mild. There were supposed to be casualties, and he had to school himself into an uncaring state.

(He did care, despite it all. Most of the boys were innocents.)

(The target was, well, _the target_. The one person who _should_ be affected by the glitter.)

Putting the thought out of mind for the moment, he treaded carefully across the freshly cleaned floor, reaching the ladder and hoisting himself up onto the balcony. Left turn, fifteen steps forward, sidestep to the right, hands on the railing – there.

Another groove, another set of words carved into metal, a breadcrumb trail for him to follow. He wondered if it was a set-up. Why would anyone leave notes – instructions, really – carved into metal, permanent reminders of how and where to find him?

He wondered why the words weren't in sequence this time. The first had been marked out with _one_ , a bullet point, the start of a list, the first instruction, the beginning of the set. That was what he thought it to be, for it made sense.

Yet, here it was marked again with _one_ , a set of directions next to it.

He wondered if the target had a thing for the number one, or if he labelled all his instructions with _one_ , just to throw them off his trail. He shrugged to himself and descended the ladder, sneaking out of the window.

He had the next location, the next breadcrumb to look for, and he would see it through, even if the trail was false.

x.x.x.x.x

Iwaizumi stopped in front of a simple house, knocking politely on the door before going in. Leaving his bag and shoes in the foyer, he approached a room in the back, knocking lightly to announce his presence.

Ushijima sat with his back to him, staring absentmindedly at a row of potted plants on his windowsill. “Iwaizumi. Why are you knocking so hard?”

Iwaizumi cocked an eyebrow at his back, then grimaced at the action. “I didn’t think I was knocking that hard.”

“You were,” Ushijima confirmed, spinning his chair round to face him. His eyebrows shot up, and Iwaizumi would have laughed had his head not hurt so much. “You look terrible.”

Iwaizumi sat down heavily, placing his head on his knees. “I feel terrible. I’ve got a huge headache and my skin feels funny. I came here right after they let us go.”

“What happened?”

Iwaizumi told him. Or at least, he tried to. His head was swimming, and the pinpricks on his skin were distracting. Ushijima stopped him after a few more nonsensical sentences.

“Tell me about the glitter and what you felt after touching it.”

“Stinging, tingling, shiny, glittery, hmm, I don’t know.” Iwaizumi poked absentmindedly at his arm. “I can’t feel my skin if I touch it anymore.”

Ushijima’s eyes narrowed, and he quickly pulled on a pair of gloves from a box near his window. “How much glitter were you covered in? Was there any green glitter?”

“Covered like well-marinated steak. Lots of green glitter.” Iwaizumi frowned at the swimming floor. “Not all the glitter was shiny. Some green glitter wasn’t shiny. Matte? Is that what it’s called?”

Ushijima came over and crouched next to Iwaizumi. “Did you collect any glitter for me?”

Iwaizumi brightened and lifted his head, before moaning and setting it back down. “Yeah. My bag. Got you the funny green glitter.”

He felt the presence beside him leave, heard Ushijima unzip his bag and take out something. There were some sounds of clinking and pouring, so Iwaizumi settled himself in for a nap.

The next thing he felt was himself being shaken awake, his jacket stripped off and a cold swab on his upper arm. He barely felt the sting of the needle as it went into his arm, only making a questioning noise when it was pulled out.

“Aconitum poisoning. Wolfsbane. You’re lucky you’re still alive. I’m calling your coach. He needs to know that his students have been poisoned.”

Something about that struck odd with Iwaizumi, and he reached out to Ushijima, but his arm fell short of its target, his muscles too weak. “Coach was shiny too.”

“What?” Ushijima was back next to him, slapping his face lightly when his eyes kept crossing. “Iwaizumi, focus. Did Irihata touch the glitter?”

Iwaizumi nodded blearily. “Poor Kunimi and Kindaichi and Watari and Yahaba and Kyoutani…” He continued rambling under his breath, while Ushijima grabbed his phone and placed several frantic calls, the first being to their boss.

“Washijou-sama. We have a compromised agent.”

x.x.x.x.x

Oikawa pressed the phone between his shoulder and ear as he flipped through his stolen papers, half-tuning out Suga’s scolding.

_“…could have gotten yourself exposed, or worse, killed! Tooru! Are you listening to me?!”_

“Yes, mom,” he answered dutifully. Suga sighed, his anger and exasperation clear even through the phone.

_“Honestly, Oikawa. You were supposed to avoid the Fukurodani and Nekoma kids for precisely this reason.”_

“How was I supposed to know that the Tokyo schools train agents too?!”

_“They could be assassins, not agents.”_ Suga pointed out. _“Now what was it you risked your life for?”_

“Nothing.” Oikawa said sulkily. “Hanamaki took most of the documents and I was acting stupid so all I got were volleyball strategies.” His eyes are suddenly drawn to a hand drawn box in the notes. “Hold the thought, there’s something here.”

Oikawa skimmed through the rest of the notes, finding more and more pockets of information. Practically every page had a little box, shaded in pencil and containing the exact type of information he was looking for. Oikawa felt a little thrill replace his gloominess. “Suga-chan, I got it. I got the info.”

_“What? You just said you got nothing!”_

“Well, I thought wrong.” A satisfied grin crept over his face, and he did a mini victory dance in the middle of the room. _Take that, Hanamaki!_

“Within the volleyball notes are these boxes with personal information, traits and specialities in them, as well as the academy they trained at. It’s not compiled properly, but it’s a start. I’ll scan them to you.”

_“Excellent work. See, things worked out in the end.”_

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Oikawa told him, leaning against the edge of the table. “This information looks like it’s Shiratorizawa-based only. I’ll have to find the others. There’s bound to be more information on other schools somewhere.”

_“That’s the spirit. I’ll be waiting for your email.”_ The line clicked off, and Oikawa set the phone down, frowning at a sheet of paper in his hands.

_Shiratorizawa, huh… I wonder what other lies he’s told._

He placed the sheet on top of the pile and took it to his secure scanner, marking the first sheet as **IMPORTANT** and **IMMEDIATE ATTENTION**.

The hastily sketched side profile of a certain ace glared out of the paper, alongside the box of his statistics.

x.x.x.x.x

Hanamaki received a call just before he reached the target’s house.

_“Makki!! How are you?”_

“On the way to Coach’s house, Bokuto.” He answered cheerfully, ducking into the small grove of trees next to the house. He quickly scaled a tree, settling himself in to keep an eye on the house. “What have you got for me?”

_“Ah well, just that Coach says good job! He heard about the Seijou kids’ deaths.”_

“Oh?” This was the first time Hanamaki had heard of it. “How did they die?”

_“Wolfsbane contact poisoning. That’s a brillia–“_ There was murmuring from the end of the line, and Bokuto’s voice drifted away, though not without a scale of complaining.  Static crackled in his ear before the sound evened out and a cool, calm voice spoke.

_“Good afternoon, Hanamaki-san.”_

“Akaashi,” he acknowledged. “Who’s responsible for the deaths?”

Akaashi sounded slightly miffed. _“We are still trying to find out. I am certain it was not you, for your mission does not cover the death of anyone besides the target.”_

“Damn straight. Who are the casualties?”

_“The majority of the volleyball team’s first string. Anyone who was in Aoba Jousai’s second gym today has been affected.”_

Hanamaki whistled lowly. _Savage._ “That’s fast. They were alive just this morning.”

_“Wolfsbane poisoning, Hanamaki-san.”_

“I know, I know. That stuff is lethal.” He chuckled. “By the way, did you check out the glitter bomb in the gym?”

The second year paused, probably in surprise. _“We did not hear of that. We only know that Nekoma was supposed to prepare your distraction, but the details were not disclosed to us.”_

_So, Matsukawa did it._ Hanamaki mused. He was impressed by the other’s skill, if he was being honest with himself.

_To slip in wolfsbane and make the target and the innocents touch it… My, the cats sure are vicious._

To Akaashi he said, “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t touch the glitter at all. Nekoma set the trap, and they killed the kids. I’m fine, the Nekoma and Karasuno kids are fine. Shiratorizawa’s ace, however…” He thought of Iwaizumi, his skin pale and drawn, caked in glitter and dripping shiny specks of sweat. “Well. He might not make it.”

Akaashi sounded amused. _“How observant.”_

Hanamaki would have tossed his hair if it was a) longer, or b) Akaashi could see him. He loved pissing the second year off. “Well, _someone_ has to be. I’m entering the house soon, we can talk later.”

Akaashi made a sound of confirmation. _“Bokuto-san, say goodbye. I’m ending the call.”_

_“BYEEEE!”_ Bokuto called gleefully. Hanamaki huffed with fondness as the call disconnected, but quickly refocused his attention on the house. He recalled the blueprints he had been given, and mapped out his path mentally.

_Two bedrooms and a kitchen and dining area. How terribly boring, though spacious._

He dropped from his tree and approached the house, plastering on an innocent look as he prowled. Nobody came to open the door, so Hanamaki walked up to it casually and poked at the keyhole with his lock-picking set until the door popped open.

There was no sign of glitter-covered shoes in the entryway, so either the target had gotten rid of them, or he had not returned home yet. It was a stupid idea to leave his shoes behind, so he trekked through the house with them on, doing his best to ignore the voice inside his head that was screaming about terrible manners.

He moved methodically from room to room, opening drawers and cabinets, looking in every nook and cranny for the slightest thing that seemed suspicious. There was nothing incriminating in the kitchen or dining area, so he moved to the first room.

It was a small study, lined wall to wall with books of every genre, both fiction and non-fiction. Hanamaki made a beeline for the table at the side of the room, sifting through papers and haphazardly placed stationery, looking for the information.

He found nothing but volleyball related documents on the table, data on teams from other prefectures, data on strategies and tactics, records of matches and things to buy. Hanamaki was getting impatient. He knew the target coached teams for a living, so his notes made sense, but _where was the information?_

Hanamaki picked up yet another match review, skimming the margins lazily. A jolt went through his body when he saw his name, followed by a list of vital statistics.

He spent a long time staring at it, horror coursing through him when he realised it was accurate. Scanning through the paper quickly, he dug through the mountain of documents, searching for hand-drawn boxes that looked similar to the one in his hand.

One paper. Two. Three and four and five and six– His pile kept growing, the slightest bit of familiar or related information on the sheet causing it to join the haphazardly stacked documents.

_Fukurodani. Nekoma. All of our information is here. Shit, shit, **shit.**_

His hands stilled as he read through an entire document, crammed with information.

_Our possible recruits list?!_

The front door scraped open and Hanamaki jumped up, cursing himself for not paying more attention. He quickly shuffled his pile together, gathering the rest and dumping them under the desk.

There was no sound from outside.

Hanamaki folded the thick stack and stuffed it into his bag, creeping to stand beside the door. He had left it slightly ajar, and now he peered out of it while drawing a deep breath.

His heart thumped too quickly, but he could sense that the air had settled. Whoever had entered was in a different part of the house.

He exhaled shallowly, and pulled the door back.

_Thunk._

A shiny shuriken embedded itself in the door, pointed edges gleaming.

Hanamaki reached for the mask hanging around his neck, tugging the fabric over his head. His other hand reached for his throwing knives while he listened, carefully, carefully, ears sharp in case the other made a mistake.

The tiniest exhale, a panicked slip of breath.

He threw the door open with one hand, grabbing the shuriken with his other. Spinning around, he rolled out of the door, noting the other figure’s position and throwing his knife.

A dull _thunk_ had him glancing up again, only to find that he had thrown his knife into some tall piece of furniture.

Movement from the corner of his eye had him tossing the shuriken, cursing to himself as the weapon left his hand wrong. He had never been good with the thin blades, the weight too light for him to control accurately.

He thought he saw the person dive, and took his chance to run, tearing his knife from the furniture – several stacked chairs – as he ran past. His hand ached from the bad angle and the force he used to retrieve his weapon.

A slight disturbance in the air behind him had him diving – a perfect flying receive – before he stood back up and grabbed the doorknob, yanking it open. He twisted the lock as he dodged out and pulled it shut.

There was no one on the street, so he took off at a run, jumping back into the trees. He yanked a shuriken out of the back of his glove and pocketed it, determined to find out whose weapon it was and how he could track them down.

He climbed from tree to tree to make his escape, only dropping back into the street when he found a deserted alley.

He was confused when he stood back up, his bag too light – and looked back to see the white wing of a page float down and descend into a puddle of dirty water. Hanamaki pulled his bag off to find a throwing knife embedded at the base of it, having torn a jagged hole in the side, half its contents gone.

If he were a lesser man, he would have screamed.

x.x.x.x.x

The sun had set a long time ago, and only pedestrians and late night-goers were around. Matsukawa strolled through the park, keeping a careful eye out for any suspicious persons or movements.

He reached the statue in the middle of the park with little fanfare, turning his phone light on to read the words on the plague.

There was nothing unusual, nothing out of place.

He sighed and shut the light off, running his fingers over the plague, then over the body of the pedestal, and even petting down the statue.

Nothing. Nothing apart from dust and accumulated grime, the cracks of age and decay.

A failed mission, then. A false trail.

Perhaps he should have known.

He turned towards the biggest tree and hoisted himself up, fingers digging into the groves on the bark. He was nearly to the top when his hand missed its mark, fingers slipping into air–

–only to crash into a surface a few centimetres below it.

Matsukawa gripped the edge tightly, trying to calm his racing heart. He might have been trained to fall and roll back up, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t terrified of the weightlessness that accompanied it.

Once he had regained control over his breathing, he let his fingers explore, sliding back and forth to map out the emptiness. The light from the streetlamps was too dim to make out anything but the general shape of it, but he figured it must be some sort of hole.

He swung himself towards the other side, relieved to find a branch to perch on. A quick check showed that no one was close to him, so he pulled out his phone and shone its light at the odd phenomenon.

Ah. Just a hollow in the tree.

He leaned close to check what was in there. Some down feathers, a small stash of acorns, a bunch of hay. Probably just a squirrel's home.

…except squirrels didn’t use down feathers to line their nests, and acorns didn’t grow in Japan.

_Looks like I got lucky._

He pocketed his phone, bracing himself with one arm against the trunk, his hand reaching into the hollow.

His fingers swept through the fluffy down, knocked over the stacked acorns. The hay was dry and crispy under his hand, a thick layer that he could press his fingers into.

He dug through the pile, sifting the stalks, tossing them to the side. It wasn’t a very big hollow, and he soon reached the bottom of it. It was slightly rough, age and its many past inhabitants smoothing the surface out. But what caught his attention was his finger knocking into something.

He traced its surface, cool and smooth, before pulling it out and stashing it in his pocket. He tried to shift the hay back into its original position, though there was nothing much he could do about the down and the acorns.

He moved back to the safety of the branch and dusted his hands off, looking out for anyone who might be around before descending and making his way home.

Back in the safety of his room, he pulled out the item he had found, searching its metal exterior for a release clasp. There was none, but there was a fine line running round the top of it, so he held his breath and _pulled_.

The cap came off easily, and he tipped the container over to pour out its contents. A small roll of rice paper fell out, so he put on his gloves before carefully unrolling it.

There were just three words on the crumbling surface.

_I got it._

Matsukawa stared at it in confusion. It was signed off the same way the previous messages had began: with _one_.

He didn’t understand it at all, but one thing was for certain:

Someone had beat him to the information.

x.x.x.x.x

He was dreaming.

He was stuck in a state of suspended reality, mildly aware of his surroundings, but mostly under; drifting, drifting, drifting, closer and closer to the edge of sleep.

It was dark, and he heard the whispers with curious detachment, acknowledging that it was present, but if he tried to focus on it, he forgot it immediately.

He thought he felt a prick on his arm, a cool sense of relief spreading through his body, his heart rate slowing.

Was his heart rate elevated? He had no idea.

He thought he heard voices, one deep and measured, another biting and hysterical.

_“He will not die. He must not.”_

_“I believe he will live.”_

_“Are you the doctor? No? Then cease your babbling.”_

A confused grunt.

_“I am merely observing that we have undergone large amounts of poison training. It would take more than this to kill him.”_

_“He was subject to the effects for several hours before he sought you. How he is still alive is beyond my comprehension.”_

_“It baffles me as well. But Iwaizumi is strong. He will not let this keep him down.”_

He drifted again, promptly forgetting their conversation.

He was on the verge of sleep, close to the edge, but he couldn’t will himself into slumber any more than he could wish himself awake.

He drifted, and dreamt of worried voices and cool latex, broken sobs and fervent prayers.

x.x.x.x.x

“Suga-chan.”

_“Yes?”_

“The major information is gone, but I have the names from minor schools, the ones who aren’t as established.”

_“Good, good. Did you find ours?”_

A pause as he worried at his lip. “No,” he said at length. “It wasn’t on any of the papers.”

There was the faint shuffling of papers, the soft whirr of his laptop. _“Someone else might have it, then.”_

He agreed. “Should I continue to seek it?”

A lengthy silence, one he spent staring at the white envelopes on his table, mind quickly calculating and sorting possibilities.

_“No.”_ He snapped back to attention at that word. _“No. If another school has it, there is no point in trying to take it back. We have enough information to quash the smaller groups and to strike an alliance with Shiratorizawa.”_

His breath caught in his throat. “An _alliance?”_

_“I am aware you despise them, but they are our major contender. Begin with Miyagi, and then the rest of Japan,”_ Suga reminded.

Oikawa grumbled but protested nothing. “And my mission?”

_“Yet incomplete. Try to get closer to the remaining Seijou students, and pick those with the most potential.”_

“The target didn’t make it.” He guessed, and was rewarded by a sigh.

_“No. Neither did the ones in the gym today. A pity, they were the best.”_

“…I’ll see what I can do.”

x.x.x.x.x

Ruined. Ruined and lost.

He spread the remaining papers across his desk, counting the sheets. Less than half of what he had originally collected, and nothing of great importance either.

His fist came down, back hunched in fury. This was _his_ fault. The shuriken user, the one who had torn his bag and made him lose the information.

Granted, it was information meant to be destroyed, but he had meant to analyse it first, to see what the target had collected. He may have had some observations that they did not make, something that could give them an edge in the game.

Damnit, why did he have to disappear and take all his skills with him? And then he had to set up a _safe haven_ for those with the greatest potential, and prepare data sheets to submit to the government to shut down their organisations.

The sheer audacity made him boil with anger.

His phone rang, the vibration distracting him. He picked it up with a glance at the caller ID, his tone curt and clipped. “Akaashi.”

_“Status report.”_

“Met with a rival while retrieving the information. They cut short my search, and my bag was broken in the escape. More than half the information is lost.”

There was the lightest of gasps – the most horrified he had ever heard the second year sound. _“Anything useful in the remainder?”_

“Barely anything. Some recruit names, the ones the smaller schools were going to target. I _had_ the major schools, the major information in hand. And then, that _bastard–_ ”

_“Calm down, Hanamaki-san. It’s too late now. Save your anger for when you can take down that agent.”_

Agent? But of course. It had to be an agent sent after him, because his ally would not have gotten in his way. No assassin would have gotten into his way.

(He was only mildly proud of it, but within the assassin groups, he was one of the best. Nobody who knew him would have tried to mess with him.)

“I’ll run an analysis and try to lift any fingerprints from the weapon I retrieved from the agent. The prints should reach you in an hour or so.” Hanamaki took a deep breath, exhaling through his teeth. “When you’re done… Let me know who I have to take out.”

_“Done.”_

x.x.x.x.x

The duo on the screen of the 3DS didn’t look impressed, and Matsukawa felt no lack of shame.

He had been close. He had failed.

If someone else who wasn’t an ally got their hands on that information–

It wasn’t a thought he liked to entertain.

His shoulders slumped, and looking back at the duo, he spread his hands out. _What now?_

The duo looked at each other, and Kuroo signed to him as Kenma typed.

_Take down the agents. The remaining ones at Seijou._

Matsukawa nodded, his expression hardening.

Now that, he could do.

x.x.x.x.x

He could barely breathe. Yet he felt his chest rising and falling, and his mouth was impossibly dry. A warmth over his hand was snatched away, a voice accompanying it, growing louder and louder.

“He moved. He moved!”

There was rustling, shuffling, clamouring all around him. His eyelids were so heavy, but he managed to peel them open, just a fraction.

Their blurry faces didn’t register at first, but a few more blinks knocked the information to the forefront of his brain.

He couldn’t say their names, for the obstruction in his throat.

“Someone call Coach. He’s rousing.”

A pattering of feet, a door opening and closing. Iwaizumi looked at the rest of them, trying to ask with his eyes–

_What happened? Did we succeed?_

Ushijima glanced over at their fellows, and the ash blond stepped forward. “The glitter – the wolfsbane – poisoned you. It’s been two weeks, and you’re lucky to be alive.”

He remembered that much. Being poisoned. Passing out.

(Two weeks was relatively quick, given that no one survived aconitum poisoning.)

Iwaizumi's brows drew in. Another question.

Semi hesitated, and behind him, Reon spoke up. “We lost them. The Seijou kids, Irihata.” He paused, then shook his head. “Coach will want to tell you the rest himself.”

Iwaizumi didn’t want to wait – he needed to know, _now._

(The kids were dead. He knew it was coming, but it still hurt. It was still too soon–)

The door opened again, the boys parting to allow Washijou to pass through, Goshiki trailing behind him.

The old man looked him up and down, nodding. “You look good enough. We'll move out in a few hours.”

_What?_

Washijou must have seen the question on his face, because he sighed. “We’re going into hiding. Wiping all your records, pretending to be a normal school.” He turned his back. “There’s a tape. The boys will show you when we’re on the move.”

x.x.x.x.x

The news had broken so long ago, but he couldn’t stop remembering it. It was like a broken record, going round and round and round in his head.

_“The government has been notified that many high schools across the nation have been turned into secret agent training centres. We have a full list of affected schools, but to protect the minors’ identities, we cannot release that information. The individual who had stepped forward with this information has elected to stay anonymous, but rest assured that their contribution has not gone to waste.”_

Oikawa hugged his backpack closer, not resisting when an arm snaked around his shoulders.

“I know. I know. It’ll be alright.”

Suga had been repeating that for days, but what would become of them now? They couldn’t possibly go back to school, where the government was sure to catch them and wipe their memories, or kill them all. There was no way out, no second choice, except to run.

“Do we know yet who did it?”

His voice sounded dull and dead, even to himself. If it had been any other situation, he would have laughed. Oikawa prided himself on being unbreakable, but to have to face reality in this way, that everything he had ever known was lost–

It was still too much.

“Sources say it was the assistant coach at Seijou.” Oikawa's eyes flicked over to the speaker, but Daichi wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t looking at anyone, head tilted back against the wall of the truck, eyes closed. “They said that the signal was Irihata's death. That they knew we would come for his information and the ones he rescued.”

Oikawa’s hands tightened into fists. “We should have stopped him.”

“We tried.” Daichi sounded tired. “Everyone did. But he wasn’t called the best for nothing. He wanted to put a stop to the agent program, to the assassin program, and he made it. He just had to make sure the government knew how dangerous it was first.”

“Would that really help? Stopping the programs?” Oikawa was angry now. “They were in place for good reason. In place so that any hostile nations that attacked would not stand, would not be able to gain a foothold. That we could defend ourselves. How is that– How could that have been bad?”

“The casualties,” Suga said quietly. “Anyone who didn’t make it out of the programs. And they also said– 'Let the children have their childhood’.”

“Without the programs, the younger ones wouldn’t even live.” Oikawa countered. “Because we keep them safe, they can grow up, until it’s time for them to become the protectors.”

“The government thinks they know everything.” Daichi replied, eyes finally opening, his resigned gaze meeting Oikawa’s incensed one. “It’s too late. We can’t do anything. They’ll fall to the consequences of their mistakes.”

“And us? What are we going to do? Pretend and hide and let the children die?”

“No. We protect them, from the shadows.” Suga squeezed his shoulder. “That’s the best we can do.”

Oikawa closed his eyes, refusing to let the welling tears fall.

Everything he had ever known – everything, gone, in an instant.

“We’ll make them see reason,” he whispered. “One day, we will establish ourselves again, and we _will_ care for those left behind.”


End file.
